


Twelve Months

by palominopup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is an escort.  He has a client he sees once a month...a client with a big secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Months

**December**

  
He hated the traffic in Washington. It really pissed him off that the client picked a hotel way out by Union Station. The Hotel George was a classy place, so Dean figured the guy was in politics or some other well paid professional. He’d had his fair share of lawyers and doctors. He parked the Impala at Union Station and walked to the hotel. No way was he letting a valet touch his baby.

  
The walk took him six minutes. Six minutes of freezing wind blowing at his back. The leather jacket might have been cool looking, but it didn’t do anything to keep out the biting cold of a DC winter. He got to the hotel and entered the glass doors of the elegant black and white lobby. To his left he saw an ebony grand piano and he smirked. Rich assholes. A room here probably cost about five hundred bucks a night or more.

  
He checked the small post-it note once more to make sure he had the room number right and headed towards the bank of elevators. Scrawled in Michael’s handwriting were the room number and a special code. The small symbol told Dean that discretion was mandatory. That was why his boss picked Dean for these types of clients. Dean kept his mouth shut.

  
His phone rang right as the elevator opened and when Dean saw it was his brother, he let that car go. Reception was shit in an elevator.

  
“What’s up, Sammy?”

  
“Just between appointments and wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink later tonight. Say eight?”

  
Dean ran through his appointment book in his head. Fridays were usually a busy night, but he didn’t have another client until ten. “Sure, I can’t stay late though. Got to work in the morning.”

  
“When are you going to quit that job and finish school, Dean?” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Sam was always riding his ass about finishing culinary school, but it was fuckin’ expensive and with the rent in the Washington area, plus all his other bills, it was on the back burner for a while. Sam’s education had come first and then there were a few lean years while his younger brother worked his way up the ladder. Now, Sam sat in a corner office at prestigious law firm. Sure, he’d offered to pay Dean’s living expenses while Dean went back to school, but Dean wasn’t going to let that happen. His job as a sous chef on the lunch shift at a hot spot for corporate suits didn’t pay squat, but his second job, the one Sam could never know about…well, the pay wasn’t too bad.

  
“Not arguing with you now, Sam. I have a date that I can’t be late for.”

  
“A date?”

  
“Yeah, Sam, a date. I’ll tell you all about it tonight. Bye.” That would give him several hours to make up another lie.

  
He took the elevator to the third floor. Dean walked like he belonged there, even if his clothes said something different. If this was a more public job, where he went out for dinner and drinks with the client, he would have worn a tailored suit. This was just thirty minutes in a hotel room. He didn’t bother dressing up for that. His jeans hugged his ass and showed off his package, the black Henley fit snug over his chest and the leather jacket gave him a James Dean aura.

  
He knocked. The man who opened the door left Dean speechless. The majority of his clients were older, pudgier, balding…but this man was fucking gorgeous.

  
“You’re late.”

  
Dean automatically looked at his watch. He was two minutes late. “Yeah, well, traffic…you know.” Even with a scowl, the man’s features were just about perfect. Cleft chin, five o’clock shadow over a sharp jawline, and his eyes. Unnaturally blue eyes that held a hint of frost.

  
“I was assured you’d be punctual. I have a plane to catch this evening.” His voice was rough, deep and edgy, reminding Dean of a smoke filled piano bar.

  
“Take it out of my pay…or the bonus you’ll give me because I’m that damn good,” Dean said arrogantly.

  
The man titled his head and raised a brow. “Let’s just see how good you really are.” Without another word, he turned and walked back into the room. Dean shut the door and took a quick look around. The black and white theme from the lobby continued in the room. Dean noted the packed suitcase on the bed, the suit jacket and tie laying atop it.

  
It was time to go to work. Dean sauntered up to the bed and took off his jacket. He tossed it to the bed next to the suitcase. “You want me naked…or do you have a preference?”

  
“Shirtless.” While Dean took off his shirt, the man was unbuckling his belt. Dean heard the sound of a zipper. These were the jobs he liked. Just go down on a guy, get him off quickly, take his money and that was it. His cut was a hundred bucks.

  
Dean turned back to the man and flexed his chest muscles. The client’s pants were unzipped and hanging off his hips. Dean saw the black silk of boxers in the vee of the open zipper. He came forward and dropped to his knees. It was a new experience to actually be attracted to a client, so Dean played up to it. He reached his hand in and pulled out the client’s flaccid cock. Instead of pulling out all his tricks to get a man off fast, he licked and sucked slowly, moaning seductively as the man’s cock swelled in his mouth. He felt fingers in his hair, dragging across his scalp. Small sounds were coming from the guy’s throat and damned if Dean wasn’t getting a little hard from listening to them.

  
Even though he’d taken his time, the man’s release was approaching fast. His harsh breaths and the jerk of his hips gave him away. Dean looked up into those steel blue eyes, pulled off and stroked him steadily. The man’s eyes stayed on Dean’s for a few seconds until his orgasm ripped through him. He closed his eyes, threw back his head and moaned softly as his cum shot over Dean’s chest.

  
Dean took it upon himself to tuck the man’s cock back into those sexy black boxers and zip him up. He’d leave the button and the belt buckle to the client. He stood and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the tap, he found the washcloths and cleaned up. When he came out, the client was standing at the mirror tying his tie. Dean pulled on his shirt and that’s when he chuckled. “Dude, who taught you how to tie a fucking tie?”

  
Was that a slight blush on the man’s cheeks? Dean walked over and untied the sloppy knot. With a few flicks of his wrists, his nimble fingers tied the perfect Windsor knot. He backed up and picked up his jacket.

  
“Thank you.”

  
“No problem.”

  
“I suppose you want a bonus for that?” Dean saw the guy’s lip lift slightly at one corner and he grinned.

  
“Well, now…did it make up for the two minutes I was late?”

  
“I found your services…very…satisfactory.”

  
**January**

  
“Repeat customer, Dean,” Michael said from his position behind his huge oak desk. For the owner of an escort service that catered to gay men with money to burn, Michael wasn’t too bad. He took care of his boys and in Dean’s case, he let him work around his real job. Every dime from this gig went into a special account. One day, he was going back to school and when he was done, he was opening his own restaurant.

  
“Yeah?” Dean had a few regulars, but mostly because Michael really trusted him, Dean was given the people that only wanted to play on occasion. The ones that couldn’t afford to get caught with an escort…a male escort. “Anything special I should know?”  
“It is one of our special clients.” Dean translated that to mean it was a public figure of some sort. “Crown Plaza, Room 645, full service.”

  
Full service meant the guy wanted to fuck. “Time?”

  
“Six. Oh, and he said to tell you to be on time.” Michael looked at him over his reading glasses. “Something I should know?”

  
Dean shrugged. “Don’t think so. You know I’m never late.” Dean was on his way to his car when he remembered the one time he was late. He found himself whistling as he made his way to his apartment. He poured himself a whiskey and took it to his bedroom. He stripped off his chef’s coat and pants. He flopped down on his bed and picked up his remote. The DVD was from his special collection of movies. Five minutes into the video, Dean was stroking himself while the two men on the screen were getting undressed. One was wearing a white dress shirt and a tie. Visions of a blue eyed man filled Dean’s mind and he got off to the memories of that rough voice moaning obscenities.

  
He took extra care in the shower. Not knowing if the guy was a bottom or top, he cleaned himself just in case. He shaved carefully and dressed in a pair of ball hugging boxer briefs, his usual jeans and a dark green button down.

  
This time when the door was opened, Dean was greeted with a slight nod. “A bonus for punctuality.”

  
Dean smiled. “Always glad to have a bonus.” He was wearing dress slacks again, but this time his dress shirt was untucked and opened at the neck. The suitcase was open and on the stand, a pair of shoes sat on the floor next to it. Dean looked down. The guy was barefoot.

  
“Since you want the full service menu, I need to tell you the rules.” The man inclined his head for Dean to go on. “No kissing, no water sports, no visible or permanent marks,” Dean recited. “And condoms are mandatory, no negotiation.”

  
“Sounds fair.” He moved to the suitcase and lifted out a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant. He tossed them on the bed.

  
Dean took off his coat and had gotten to his second button when he spoke again. “What’s your name?”

  
“Dean.”

  
“Is that your real name or just one you use for work?”

  
“It’s the one I was born with.” Dean knew better than to ask a client’s name. Sometimes they gave them out, mostly the out-of-towners. The majority didn’t bother to share anything with an escort.

  
The last time, the guy had his hair combed and sprayed…tamed. Today, Dean could tell those long fingers had raked through it a few times because it was standing on end in a few places. It looked sexy as hell. Dean slowly continued to strip, while tall, dark and handsome watched intently. The first few times clients watched Dean undress, he’d been embarrassed. Now, after two years, Dean was a pro at stripping. When he was completely nude, Dean stood proudly, hands at his sides. “Turn around,” came the deep, smoky voice. It sent shivers up Dean’s spine. He turned, showing the client the nice piece of ass he’d bought and paid for.

  
“You’re beautiful.”

  
Not expecting that, Dean inhaled and held it for a few seconds. “Uhm, yeah…so, what’s your pleasure?”

  
He felt light fingertips on his shoulders.

  
**February**

  
Dean knocked and straightened his tie while he waited. He smiled. “Hi ya, handsome.”

  
“Hello, Dean.” Blue eyes smoldered as they took in Dean’s tailored suit, stark white shirt and red silk tie. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.” Dean followed him into the room and shut the door behind him. “I made reservations at Tosca. This will be a business dinner between associates. Understood?”

  
“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Dean said snidely, letting his Texas accent come through loud and clear. What did the guy think Dean was going to do? Cop a feel at the table…drop to his knees to service him…

  
The hired car, a black Cadillac Escalade, drove smoothly through the DC traffic. In the back seat, Dean sat stiffly next to his client. There was probably a foot and a half of space between them.

  
The four star restaurant was dimly lit and they were escorted to a table in a small alcove. Dean looked at the menu with a practiced eye. He knew he could cook everything on the menu and probably make it better. “I’ll start with the Manzo and a bottle of Le Macchiole Messorio, 2010.”

  
“And you, Sir?” The server asked, turning his attention to Dean. Dean noted how smoothly the Italian rolled off his client’s tongue.

  
“I’ll have the Manzo as well.”

  
After the server left, his client folded his hands on the table and looked into Dean’s eyes. “Tell me about yourself, Dean?”

  
In Dean’s experience, most clients wanted to talk about themselves…how much money they had, what they did for a living, how proud they were that their rich brats got into Harvard. No one ever asked about Dean, so he didn’t really know what to say. The conversation was stilted until the second bottle of wine was poured.

  
“I’m saving up to finish culinary school and open my own place.”

  
“What type of restaurant would you want to open?”

  
“You’ll think it’s stupid,” Dean said, taking another drink of the full bodied Merlot.

  
“I doubt it,” he said, leaning back in his chair. The remnants of their meal long since taken away.

  
“I want to specialize in grilled burgers and steaks.”

  
“So, a steakhouse?” He seemed really interested in what Dean had to say and the buzz from the wine allowed Dean to speak freely and openly.

  
Like before, the sex was satisfying to Dean. Unlike his usual clients, this one liked watching Dean get off.

  
**March**

  
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Dude. You’ve never seen any of the Die Hard movies?”

  
“I don’t watch a lot of television…”

  
“You are un-American.”

  
“I can assure you I’m American.”

  
Dean played with the remote of the smart TV until he found Netflix. They were laying in the king-sized bed in post-sex euphoria. The man had paid for a full night with Dean. Usually when that happened, and it was very rare, the client wanted some weird ass sex or just someone to listen to him moan about his wife. Cas was different. Yeah, his name was Cas. He’d told Dean to call him by his name last month after their dinner. They’d had awesome sex. Twice. Now, propped back against the headboard with enough pillows to fill a battleship, Dean introduced Cas to the wide world of action movies.

  
**April**

  
On his hands and knees, Dean waited for the initial burn…Cas’ hands were roaming over his back and ass. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “Dean?”

  
“Yeah?” Again, he felt the slick nudge at his entrance.

  
“Why do you do this?”

  
In his aroused state, Dean didn’t know what Cas was talking about. “Do what?”

  
“Sell yourself.”

  
Dean stiffened and his erection waned. “Money,” Dean snapped. “We gonna fuck or what?” He closed his eyes when he felt Cas pull away. He felt the bed move as Cas stood up. When he looked over his shoulder, Cas was in the hotel’s complimentary white bathrobe.

  
“You can get dressed Dean. I don’t seem to be in the mood.” Cas wasn’t even looking at him. He was standing at the window looking out at the lights of DC.

  
“Cas, look…”

  
“Get dressed, Dean.”

  
Dean left, the stack of money on the dresser untouched.

  
**May**

  
It was the twenty-eighth. There was no message from Michael about meeting Cas. Dean told himself it didn’t matter. It was just another client…another john. As the end of the month neared, Dean turned down three jobs. Michael raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t ask questions.

  
He spent his spare time in his tiny kitchen perfecting recipes. He fed his results to Sam and his wife, Jess. Or sometimes Charlie would come over to watch a movie or play video games. She’d ask him once why he was acting like someone kicked his puppy. He calmly told her to mind her own business.

  
**June**

  
“You’ve got a regular asking for you,” Michael’s voice came over his phone. Dean had paused his sit-ups to answer the call. Sweat dripped down his bare chest.

  
“Just not feeling it, Michael. I promise, I’ll make it up to you later in the week.”

  
“He said to tell you he still hates Bruce Willis.”

  
Cas. “When and where?”

  
The address wasn’t a hotel. It was a townhouse in Georgetown. Dean looked at the slip of paper again. This is the right place according to Michael’s notes. He knocked. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans.

  
“Hello, Dean.”

  
“Cas.” They stood in the doorway, both unwilling to be the first to break the stare. How long it went on, Dean had no idea. It was Cas that finally broke the spell.

  
“Come in.” Dean followed Cas through a tastefully decorated entry into a richly paneled living room.

  
“Nice upgrade from our usual.”

  
“I don’t stay here often, just when I’m in town for…meetings.” Dean noticed the hesitation. Cas never mentioned what he did for a living. He didn’t wear a wedding band, nor was there the white stripe of untanned skin.

  
“So, this is yours?” Dean was stunned. For a client to bring an escort to his home was unheard of.

  
“Yes. Would you like a drink?”

  
“Yeah, sure.” Dean was suddenly aware Cas was in low slung jeans and a button down…an untucked button down. He’d never seen the man in anything but a suit, parts of a suit, a bathrobe or naked. The way the jeans fit his ass should have been illegal. Dean knew exactly what that ass looked like. He remembered every detail, down to the slight dimples in his lower back. Cas had a runner’s ass…and his legs were beautiful…

  
“Dean?”

  
Dean shook his head, clearing the errant thoughts of Cas’ naked body. “Sorry, what?”

  
“I asked what you wanted to drink.”

  
“Oh, uhm, whatever you’re having would be fine.” He watched Cas pour clear liquid into two highball glasses. He cut up a lime and put a slice in each one, then he topped it off with what looked like carbonated water. He added a few ice cubes from a silver ice bucket before, stepping away from the bar. Cas brought the glasses to the coffee table. After placing them on coasters, he motioned for Dean to sit.

  
Dean sat and picked up his glass. Nervously, he took a big gulp and choked. He sputtered as he swallowed the bitter liquid. “Christ…fuck…what the hell is that?”

  
“Gin and tonic.” Cas looked concerned for a second that then his expression changed to one of amusement.

  
“Gin…no wonder. God, it’s like sucking on a Goddamn pine tree. How the fuck to you drink that shit?”

  
“I suppose it’s an acquired taste.”

  
“No…beer…wine…those are acquired tastes, Cas. This is lose-a-bet shit.”

  
Cas rose and took the glass from Dean’s hand. “What would you prefer?”

  
“Whatever will take the taste of cleaning fluid from my mouth…just give me a beer.”

  
He watched Cas disappear into what Dean assumed was a kitchen. He stood and followed. Dean gaped at the size of the room. There was a professional range, huge stainless steel refrigerator, a marble topped island…Dean felt like he’d stepped into heaven.  
Much later, as he dressed, Dean stared at the money on Cas’ dresser. A neat stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. Dean knew without counting that there would be seven bills. For the first time, he hated taking the fee for his services. Two hundred of that was his bonus. Money he didn’t have to give a percentage of to Michael.

  
He snatched it up angrily and shoved it in his pocket. Cas came out of the bathroom in a dark blue velour robe tied loosely at his waist. “I’ll be in town for the July Fourth holiday. Maybe a week or so.”

  
“Yeah, that’s cool. I guess Michael will let me know if you want to see me.”

  
“Yes.” He looked at the floor. “I will definitely want to see you.”

  
“Sure. Goodnight, Cas.”

  
**July**

  
“You’re actually going to be watching Barry Manilow…live… You really are fucking gay.”

  
Cas gave him a bitch face that rivaled Sam’s. “It’s the Independence Day Celebration on the National Mall, Dean. I have to be there.”

  
He sat on the edge of Cas’ bed, pulling on his boots. “Why do you have to be there?”

  
Cas turned away to straighten his tie in the mirror. “Business reasons.”

  
Dean stood up and walked to Cas, pulling him around by his arm. He shook his head as he retied the knot and straightened the blue and white striped tie. “What do you do when I’m not around to tie your ties for you?”

  
Dean meant it as a joke, but Cas’ eyes met his and held them. “I suppose it stays a misshapen knot.”

  
“Yeah, well, it’s not brain surgery, Cas.”

  
This time the money was in a white envelope. Dean folded it and put it in his back pocket as he left.

  
In his apartment, he went to take out his bonus, but the amount staggered him. There was a thousand dollars there and a folded piece of stationary. Even to Dean’s untrained eye, the paper felt expensive. ‘ _As a friend, I want to donate to your education fund_.’ It was signed ‘Cas’.

  
For once, Dean tuned into the televised celebration on TV. He told himself it was because there wasn’t anything else to watch. His eyes were glued to the screen every time the camera panned over the crowds.

  
As a group of dancers were taking the stage, Dean saw him. He was standing next to a beautiful redhead in a long blue gown. She was looking up at Cas and had her hand on Cas’ arm. The camera jumped back to the dancers. Dean turned off the TV.

  
**August**

  
Summer in Washington was brutal. Dean pulled up to the townhouse and rolled up his windows. His t-shirt was already sticking to his skin.

  
He hadn’t seen Cas since the Fourth. He’d had a few stiff drinks after seeing Cas on TV. It took him a few weeks to get it through his head that Cas was just a client. Nothing more. So what if he had a woman on his arm. It didn’t matter to Dean…only it did.  
Cas opened the door. “Hello, Dean.”

  
“Hey.” Dean knew his voice was flat and cool, but he didn’t care. This was a job. Just another fucking client.

  
Cas stood back and let Dean come into the house. Instead of going to the living room like he had the last two visits, Dean took the stairs. “Dean? Where are you…”

  
“I’ve got another client tonight, so I’m on a schedule tonight.” Dean was already peeling off his t-shirt. He didn’t hear footsteps on the steps behind him, but he continued to Cas’ bedroom anyway. Once there, he shucked off his jeans and boxers. He flopped down on the bed to wait. He waited. His teeth worried his bottom lip. Where the hell was Cas?

  
“Son of a bitch.” He stood up and pulled back on his boxer briefs. He padded downstairs and into the living room. He heard noises from the kitchen and followed the sounds. He passed the dining room on the way and stopped. There were plates and wine glasses setting on the mahogany surface. It was then that he smelled a wonderful aroma. He stepped into the kitchen. Cas was scraping food into the trashcan. His face a stoic mask. “Cas, what’s all this?”

  
“I made a friend dinner. It was a mistake.” Cas’ jaw was tense and he jammed a plate into the dishwasher.

  
“Cas…”

  
“Shut up, Dean. You know, the funny thing is…I don’t know what the mistake was…assuming you were a friend or…falling…” Cas stopped abruptly. “I won’t be needing your…services….tonight. I will call Michael and make sure you get part of the cancellation fee.”

  
Dean could only stand there, feeling like the ultimate fool in his underwear. He slowly walked upstairs, his head trying to wrap itself around Cas’ words. He’d stopped…what was he going to say? Falling? He sat down on the bed. He planned on getting answers. It took Cas a little over thirty minutes to come upstairs.

  
He seem startled to see Dean sitting on his bed. “I…I thought you’d gone.”

  
“Nope. Who was the redhead you were with on the Fourth?” Okay, so probably not a good way to lead into one of the most important conversations he’d ever had, but hey, when had Dean Winchester ever done things the right way?

  
Cas tilted his head in the way Dean had come to love…okay, love was a strong word…he just liked it. The guy was adorable. “The redhead? Oh, Anna.”

  
“She your wife…girlfriend…what?”

  
“She’s my sister.”

  
Dean didn’t see that coming. He’d been hoping to play the indignant card. “Oh…well…sister, huh?”

  
“Dean, when did you see Anna?”

  
Suddenly, the picture of a waterfall over Cas’ left shoulder seemed very important. Dean stared at it. “You know…flipping channels…hoping to see Manilow belt out a few tunes.”

  
“Were you jealous?” That brought Dean’s eyes back to Cas in a hurry.

  
“Jealous? What the fuck? Why would I be jealous…I mean…we don’t…aren’t…” And he was floundering. Floundering because he wanted something he couldn’t have.

  
“My name is Castiel Novak.” Cas ran his hand through his hair.

  
Dean shrugged. “So. So what, your parents stuck you with a fucked up name…”

  
“I’m a senator from Massachusetts, Dean.”

  
Dean blinked. His mouth opened and then closed again. Cas was a fucking senator. A senator. Christ-the-fuck-Almighty.

  
**November**

  
“In other news, Senator Castiel Novak, a Democrat from Massachusetts, became the first senator to publically announce his homosexuality.”

  
Dean spewed his coffee all over the counter. He stared, wild-eyed, at the small TV in Sam’s kitchen. Sam looked up from where he was helping Jess make breakfast. “You okay, Dean?”

  
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took the offered paper towels from Jess. Without taking his eyes off the TV, he began mopping up his mess.

  
“A source close to the senator said that Novak was involved with another man and wanted the American public to know he had nothing to hide. Senator Novak’s office would not return our calls.” Pictures of Cas flipped over on the screen, on the White House lawn with the president, at a press conference, on the Senate floor…

  
“Dean…” Sam’s concerned voice pulled Dean’s attention from the TV.

  
“Sam, you might want to sit down.”

  
**Twelve Months Later…**

  
“Senator Novak-Winchester, it’s been rumored that you have been…”

  
“Let me stop you right there…” Cas held up a hand. “Tonight is my husband’s night. I’m here to support him, if you have any questions for me, you can reach me at my office on Monday.”

  
Dean grinned at his husband of two months. Dressed in his black chef’s coat, he stood by the front door of Dean’s Place. With his savings and a loan from Cas, Dean finished school and put a business plan in motion. Located in downtown Boston, the bistro was in a prime location. Already, a crowd gathered at the front door awaiting entry. The reporters were there because of Cas, Dean knew it and didn’t care. He’d take the free publicity.

  
Cas made the headlines a lot over the last year, first coming out to the American public, next openly dating a culinary student and then their marriage in September. Dean took his husband’s hand and threw open the doors. His staff expertly seated and waited on the crowd. Sam and Jess sat at a private table in the back. Cas joined them while Dean went into the kitchen.

  
It was after midnight when the final table had been cleaned off. Dean came out of the kitchen and sat down. He propped his feet up on one of the chairs and leaned against his husband. “I think you were a success, Dean.”

  
“We’ll see in a few weeks, Babe.” He felt Cas long fingers on his neck and when his husband began to massage his shoulders, Dean moaned. “I’ll give you a few days to stop that.”

  
He heard Cas chuckle against his ear. Then he felt Cas’ lips whisper over the sensitive skin at his temple. “Dean?” Cas whispered.

  
“Hmmmm.”

  
“I got word today that I’m in the running for the Democratic nomination…”

  
Dean sat up so fast he almost knocked Cas out of the chair. “Holy shit, Cas…president? The fucking president?”

  
“Well, it’s just a nomination…I haven’t decided…and even if I did…it would depend on your thoughts.”

  
Dean took Cas’ face in his hands. “Answer me one question.”

  
“Okay,” Cas said slowly, drawing the word out into more of a question.

  
“What would I be called, because I sure as shit ain’t being the first lady.” Cas began to laugh and Dean joined him. Cas actually laughed until he cried. When his husband finally wiped the tears from his eyes, he took Dean’s hand.

  
“Maybe the first gentleman…”

  
Dean pursed his lips, thought for a second and then nodded. “I could handle that.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who like my stuff, I've created a FB group page. I'll post my stuff there and you can give me prompts. https://www.facebook.com/groups/550258875175871/


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